Sleep
by Sovereign Violette
Summary: Steve just wanted to sleep after the long, grueling day of fighting Russian terrorists and facing three near-death experiences. But his temporary roommate, Tony Stark, wouldn't stop talking. Set before the Avengers: Age of Ultron and Captain America: Civil War. NOT BETA-ED. (I am open for betas...)


Steve just wanted to sleep after the long, grueling day of fighting Russian terrorists and facing yet another near-death experience. But his temporary roommate, Tony Stark, _wouldn't stop **talking**_. Any other day, when the soldier's entire being wasn't eager to shut down for ten hours, he would have been impressed with the brunette's ability to be such a chatter box after God knows how many times Iron Man had been tossed through some building or into a large oak tree today. Now, though? Now it was annoying.

"Can you believe Spike threw a bomb at me, Capsicle? A _bomb_." Steve chose not to answer. Tony was all about nicknames, be they friend, foe, or somewhere in between. The blonde couldn't honestly recall who the genius was talking about; there had been too many enemies. "And I was near one of his teammates! What happened to loyalty and care for a comrade, huh?"

The Captain held back a heavy sigh.

He was starting to regret not fighting to room with someone else. He wouldn't have roomed with Natasha or Bruce, as the spy was bound and determined to snatch up the good doctor for herself, but he could have roomed with Thor or Clint. Sure, he probably wouldn't have gotten much sleep with the God of Thunder snoring, or have been completely comfortable with Clint perched up on the edge of a chair or a bed, poised for battle as though the Chitauri were going to burst in through the hotel door.

But he could have surely gotten more sleep than what sharing a room with Tony was currently promising him.

"—Let's not forget the service they have here, either. I mean, I'm pretty sure I saw a cockroach walking on the ceiling of the lobby. Who lets their business become such a dump? I'd sooner let Loki throw me out a window for insulting his Glowstick of Destiny again before I ever let Stark Industries become as shitty as this place."

Rogers itched to pinch his nose.

Two separate showers and one brief debate over who should get the bed—"We're both old enough to share a bed and not have our parents worry about a potential pregnancy, Steve." —later, the blonde found himself on his side facing away from the brunette. It was as far away as he could comfortably get. Tony, meanwhile, lounged against the headboard without a care in the world.

"...ave a bug infestation. Do you think the others would? I mean, I know Thor would practically eat _anything_ , but he could wait for a good, hot meal, right? The kind that won't give him food poisoning? Wait, Brucie-bear wouldn't let Thor eat anything hazardous to his health."

Rogers told himself to breathe. Slowly. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

"Do you think Natashalie would be up for maybe scaring the owner into shape tomorrow? Or Pepper? Pep could definitely do it. She could just make one call and the guy owning this joint would be screwed over for life. She has a way with words."

 _'Please, God, make him be quiet,'_ the Captain beseeched.

As if to answer his prayer, Stark's endless babble tapered off not two minutes later. The blonde laid there on his side of the bed, stiff and unmoving. He couldn't relax. What if the engineer started prattling off again?

But one, two, three, five minutes past, and Stark didn't say a word.

With a grateful sigh, Steve sagged into the rock-hard mattress and too-soft pillows. Finally. Silence. No more pointless—

"Do you think the coffee here is safe?"

Eyes snapping open, the soldier shot a venomous glare at the pale white wall.

Steve had had enough.

Flipping over to face the inventor, razor sharp, ocean blue eyes pierced their dark, honey brown counterparts. He didn't give a single thought as to why those eyes had been on him in the first place; it was clear Tony was trying, and succeeding, to irritate the Captain. "What is it going to take for you to be quiet?" Steve asked, voice thick with exasperation and exhaustion. Who cared if he was a little rude? He just wanted to _sleep_.

Other than the occasional blink, they didn't look away from each other. All sound, save for their breathing, seemed to cease. After a minute of silence, he could hear the creak of the headboard of one of the beds behind theirs in the next room over. Steve waited for a response, but the silence between the two of them stretched on. Tony's expression was as unreadable as a man adorning a ski mask. The intensity of the engineer's eyes, however, made the Man Out of Time feel as though he could see into Steve's very soul; see the good and the bad.

Regardless of how long the billionaire stared, however, it wasn't enough to keep the blonde stimulated for long. The battle had zapped most of his energy, and sleep was the sweetest of siren calls.

It was only when Steve's eyelids had begun to droop did Tony open his mouth to speak.

"Kiss me."

Those two words had the blonde snapping awake with a small jerk of his shoulder. It took ninety seconds to understand what Tony said, and an additional thirty to realize he was answering Steve's question. Eyebrows knitted together, Steve mumbled a confused, "What?"

"You kiss someone to shut them up. Did you not have that method of ensuring someone's silence back in the 1940's? What a sad, horrible, deprived time you grew up in." Tony's expression melted from its unreadable mask to something akin to the flirty, flashy playboy he had once been as he talked. It wasn't _quite_ sleazy; being this close to the shorter man had its advantages. There was a tightness around those smiling, coral colored lips not even Tony's neatly trimmed goatee could hide, breath quickening just a heartbeat faster, and a touch of some unnamed, wild emotion glittering in his otherwise expressive eyes. Something secret and taboo that definitely interested Rogers.

"Or you could gag someone. If you were into that sort of thing. In a 'I'm-not-kidnapping-you' way, of course; more like a sexy kink. Are you into that, Steve? Wait, why am I asking you that? Of course you wouldn't be. You're Captain America, the pinnacle of righteousness and h—"

He didn't know what made him do it. The threat of Tony's endless yakking, the invitation to share something intimate and new, or the desperate need to become unconscious. Maybe it was a combination of all of them. Or none of them. Regardless of the why, Steve Rogers lifted himself onto his left elbow, reached out with his free hand to grasp the shorter man's neck, and pull him down for a kiss.

It wasn't perfect. Steve didn't see fireworks or feel his body seize up in pleasure-soaked shock or whatever people these days were describing it as. Their mouths locked onto each other as though they were magnets drawn to one another. The blonde's top lip brushed against the inventor's not-so-soft facial hair. Tony's lips were soft and dry against Steve's own chapped ones. The angle of the kiss was awkward, and a little too forceful, but overall swell in Steve's opinion.

A part of the First Avenger knew this wasn't right, being this intimate with a teammate, but he didn't care. He was just so tired. He wanted a full 24 hours of peaceful, uninterrupted rest. And if kissing the genius would get Rogers the quiet he needed, fine. Tony asked for it anyway. If the brunette _really_ didn't want to lock lips with Steve Rogers, he could shove the blonde away or punch him.

Tony Stark did neither.

Finally pulling back a full minute later, the soldier collapsed onto his side once more. Steve muttered, "Go to sleep," as his eyelids fell shut.

Within seconds, the Captain succumbed to slumber.

Tony's sly, triumphant grin went unseen.


End file.
